


The deep, deep rightness of their kiss

by Nadia_Hernandez



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Coffee, Concussions, Confusion, Dark, Dark Fantasy, Dark Magic, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Kissing, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Kissing, Scents & Smells, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 09:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadia_Hernandez/pseuds/Nadia_Hernandez
Summary: Macy is not sure what is happening after her encounter with the kyron queen and her rescue by Harry. Is it her Harry and, if it isn't, why does being with him feel so right and so wrong all at once?
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	The deep, deep rightness of their kiss

**Author's Note:**

> So... this story happened fast. Like, written like lightning. I hope you all enjoy it.

Something is wrong. Macy can feel it even if she can’t quite put a finger on what it actually is. She knows that she hit her head pretty hard when Mel went all child of nature and had her moment of zen with the kyron queen--and at the same time released what seemed like every other big, badass monster on the known planet--but it had not seemed important at the moment. Other things were on her mind. 

Things like, you know, not being torn to pieces by a big, weird werewolf with antlers. It had seemed like a pretty pressing concern and so when a piece of debris fell and bopped her on the noggin she just sort of… filed it away for future reference. It was a thing to be dealt with at another time when she had more time. She was a scientist, after all. They tended to be good at compartmentalizing things and Macy is one of the best.

In retrospect this might have been a mistake. She feels sick to her stomach, her vision blurs and her head swims. Orbing with Harry is always a little bit of an adventure, always makes her remember how Dr. McCoy would grumble about having his molecules torn apart and reassembled every time they went to another new planet, but it has never felt quite like this before.There is no blood on her fingers when she runs them through her hair but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t damage on the inside, that her brain isn’t swelling and trying to squeeze its way through the bottom of her skull.

Harry enters the room and she pushes that pleasant thought as far from herself as she can. It’s probably not happening, after all. She would be showing other symptoms by now like Cheyne-Stokes and maybe even seizures. Definitely. And besides, even if she is dying it looks like Harry is bringing food and there’s no point in dying hungry.

He holds a platter in the crooks of his arms. On it Macy sees a stack of digestive biscuits dipped in chocolate, her favorite, and catches a whiff of cinnamon dusted flat white wafting from the fat, plaid mug. It’s the first smell that has not made her nauseous since Mel’s Dennis Nedry on crack moment and she drinks it in greedily. She is a child on Christmas morning and that coffee is warm sugar cookies, a pile of wrapped presents and a brand new puppy all at once.

Harry dips into his favorite, shabby chair and sets the platter down on the rickety, faded table between them. “Judging by the look on your face I should avoid standing between you and this.”

“Yeah, it might not be safe.” She dives face first into it. I doesn’t burn her tongue and she wonders just how, exactly, he manages to always make her coffee the exactly luke warm she loves. His tea is always just shy of boiling, she thinks. It must be some trick from when he was alive the first time or… something. She could ask him, she knows, but that would be a distraction--however brief--from inhaling the foam, cascara cream and crunchy demerara sugar that are all her favorites.

When she finally comes up for air, Macy takes a deep, cleansing breath. “Thank you, Harry. I really, really needed that. It’s the first time since we went after the kyron queen that I haven’t felt like I was going to, like, immediately die.”

“It’s the first time since you did so that you probably haven’t been in immediate danger of dying,” he murmurs. “Are you feeling well? No more headache or nausea?”

She pauses a second, cannot remember telling him that she was even experiencing the symptoms. It must have been pretty obvious that she was sick, though, and Harry has healed all of them so many times it’s not as if he doesn’t know their tells. “Yeah… this coffee must really be a magic potion, huh?”

“I’ve always heard it has certain healing properties,” he says, “but you know me. Earl Grey man.”

She scrunches her face up. “Yeah, I really don’t know how you can drink that nasty stuff--especially with just a splash of lemon in it. The bergamot oil is…” She shudders. “I just can’t stand bitter stuff.”

He chuckles. “We start little English children on it young so they can have practice developing their stiff upper lips.” He brushes a curl away from her cheek and the whisper of his finger against her skin freezes and burns. “I”m glad you’re well, though. I worried for a moment that you were concussed.”

“I was pretty sure my brain was leaking out for a few minutes there,” she says. “Seems to be mostly staying inside my skull. Mostly.” She still feels the pressure of his flesh against hers. It seems to have reduced her to babbling and, Macy wonders, if maybe more time spent gossping with her (mostly theoretical) girlfriends about boys instead of hanging out in the library would have been time well spent. She eventually rejects the notion because the Belgariad wasn’t gonna read itself fourteen times during middle school but… she does does entertain it seriously for a long moment.

And then rational thought gets blasted into a trillion shards when he leans close and kisses her. Fire blooms between their lips and, given the recent expansion of her powers, she hopes that it doesn’t become real fire. She knows what a hot kiss is, and this is definitely, definitely one, but that might make things a little too hot. She does note that her usually smooth faced Whitelighter could use a shave but, well… it’s been stressful lately and there hasn’t been a lot of time for grooming. She assumes that he’ll get to it before long.

Even this babbling to herself melts away when their embrace deepens. He pulls her against him, she draws him within her arms and everything becomes focused on trying to reduce the space between them. Everything without them is the outer darkness, cold light without life or love, and only closing this gap, defeating the void, matters. It’s the only thing that can matter, dammit.

This is right, it’s so, so right. Macy feels hellfire rippling under her skin, making the little hairs on her arms and neck stand erect. She feels power flowing through her. It fills her to bursting and she remembers what she has heard about witches who can access deeper channels of their magick through sex or even just moments of intense emotional connection. It seems like a very real possibility right now. She could draw galaxies to herself from the cradle of creation and scatter them with a goddess’ hand, could do anything she dreamed of and most things she could not.

This is right; it’s so, so right. Why, then, does some core in the deep, deep rightness of their embrace feel so wrong? That’s a question for another time because starving women don’t wonder where their food comes from. She pushes it away to draw him closer and lets the power flow.


End file.
